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With only a couple exceptions a good friend of mine and I do an annual week-long motorcycle trip. After nearly 20 years of annual rides, Dan and I had covered most of the states east of the Mississippi. The question became: Where do we ride next, if we have 4, 5, 6, or more days?
About the same time, another friend of ours, Paul, began to take stronger interests in doing a long ride as well. An Australian and global trekker he quickly suggested doing a ride around Lake Superior. I think part of the interest for Paul was in seeing how far north, away from Australia, he might be able to travel. The suggestion had immediate merit. Doing The Loop had been a topic of discussion in years past but as yet unrealized. Doing napkin logistics, it looked like this might be the year to do it. Its fall 2002, and we’ve got plenty of time to plan for the coming season.
Over the next few weeks we all played with our mapping software and contemplated logistics. We also discussed how many people we might like to invite along, 3, 4, 6? The biggest issue was time. How much did we have to spend? Could we coordinate our schedules? How much time did we realistically need at a minimum and what might we do if time constraints weren’t an issue?
If you’ve had the luxury of putting trips like these together for even small groups you begin to appreciate the juggling act that can ensue. We ended up deciding to stick with four riders. One rider abhorred super-slab riding, a necessary evil between Detroit and Cheboygan, our kick-off and return legs. Two riders were unexpressive regarding what they wanted to do. And the fourth rider simply wanted to make sure everyone’s desires were accounted for. Mix that with riding styles, two that tend to ride quick, one that will but from the end of the pack, and a fourth that was more sedate.
The time is now late-July, 2003. We’ve decided to trailer the bikes up to Cheboygan. Cheboygan’s a sleepy town on the tip of Michigan’s Lower Peninsula, about 16 miles from the grand Mackinac (mak-in-aw) Bridge. We’re going to use Paul’s rig, a Chevy turbo diesel and flat-bed trailer prepped to haul 4 machines. Time’s getting close; we’re to leave August 15th.
For me time really started moving quickly. My family went to Yellowstone for a family vacation due to return the night before the motorcycle trip. Alas, it’s not to be. About 40 minutes after we get home from Bozeman, Montana, the entire northeast lost power. As the magnitude of the outage became apparent, one by one, each of our party had to cancel going on the ride. Taking care of one’s family must come first.
One of the early ones to get power back, my wife encouraged me to still go riding. Four days of the scheduled Loop ride remained, so I elected to do 4 days in Mail Pouch territory (southeast Ohio and W. Virginia). A brief aside, I normally do long trips with some company. Feeling a bit lonely the first half-day, the feeling quickly subsided as I rediscovered the joys of riding all on one’s own. It was fun having the freedom to stop, go, and take pictures, as one sees fit without worrying about others’ sensibilities.
Rolling time forward, it is now fall 2003, and discussions of ‘trying again’ in 2004 begin to surface. Since we had already developed the plan to the point of execution it didn’t take much to put back into play. The players were the same. The plan was the same. And, in a curious twist even though it’s a year later, we end up selecting the exact same dates on which to travel. Go figure.
A few new crinkles arise, the trailer in question now has electrical and brake problems. The week or so before the trip it’s still laid up on blocks getting new brakes and complete new wiring throughout. And finally, one of the 4 riders finds he has an obligation his simply can’t get out of. Enter, a new ‘fourth’, David. David’s a soft spoken fellow. We’ve ridden together once or twice before. As we set off I’m not sure how well he’ll fit the rest of the group. He’s a relatively new ‘return’ rider. He seems competent.
Time now, August 15, 2004. The big day has arrived. We’ve previously test-loaded the trailer and gone around the block; now we’re loading for real. I’m the last to arrive with three bikes already in various stages of tie-down, Paul moves the ramp into position as I approach, and whammo, no hanging-around, I’m up. This is where the fun begins. Everyone’s securing their machine, and then another’s, as we continue to glance over our shoulders. Ominously dark clouds are coming from the south. Just as the first rain spits start to be felt, the machines are secured, bags going into the covered bed of the truck.
It is time to leave.
With rain starting to pelt us we scramble into the truck amidst hurried good-byes. As we head north going around Ann Arbor on ‘23 we encounter moderately heavy rain. Over the next 90 minutes we crawl out from under the rain into somewhat brighter skies. Five hours later, with a bit of the typical where’s-the-hotel meandering, we find ourselves arriving in Cheboygan, none the worse for wear. We’re now 300 miles due north of our start and the temperature has fallen about 10-15 degrees. It’s a bit cool, around 65 deg (F).
We’re staying at North Country Inn (1355 Mackinaw Ave, Cheboygan, MI 49721, (231) 627-3129). It’s an older motel, but exceptionally clean and well taken care of, just outside downtown Cheboygan. At $55 per room/night, paired up, it’s a great deal. They’re also motorcycle friendly and have let us park the rig ‘round back. (Highly Recommended)
The next morning, Day 1 of The Loop, we find theInn’s owners/operators, a friendly couple, have fresh donuts 
andcoffee awaiting their guests. In most cases the morning preceding a day’s ride is the most enjoyable part of any motorcycle-travel day for me. With coffee in hand, we finish the ritual departure preps, contemplating the day ahead in our own ways, all the while watching motorcycle exhausts stream vapor into the crisp morning air.
Our first notable event of the day is to cross north over the Mackinac Bridge. Over 5 miles long, the bridge is actually an arguably more majestic and significant example of its type than the more-well known Golden Gate in San Francisco. It just doesn’t have two golden hills to offset it in picturesquely.
At either end of the bridge are constantly changing digital wind gust indicators. Crossing northbound, the never ending wind is gusting consistently around 30-35 mph. The span will take you nearly 300 feet in the air. And, as if wind and 300’ elevation isn’t entertaining enough, you quickly note the road surface: inner lanes are steel grate. California Superbike School Level 1 guidance is useful here: stay loose, be a sack of potatoes, leave your machine free to do what it needs to. Tensing up on the handlebars only adds to the level of discomfort while riding on the grates
Every motorcyclist should experience crossing the Mackinac Bridge at least once. There’s nothing like the raw shiver you get, riding over open-tread steel grates, looking down, and seeing all the way down to water hundreds of feet below. At least it was blueJ.
The first day’s route takes us west on Hwy-2 toward Escanaba, passing through Manistique and an array of small towns. Picturesque is a word that describes a large part of the day. With a light regional population there are no dual carriageways. Most of the roads that ‘get you anywhere’ are wide 2-lane highways. While this isn’t bad if you’re carving the Cherohala Skyway in Tennessee, it isn’t what we had here. Since these were major byways most of the curves requiring more than a 15 degree lean at 60mph had been smoothed out. Pretty, yes, technical, well, we’ll talk about how straight roads become ‘technical’ a bit later on.
This first day, the entry leg of what was to come, had us putting on a lot of miles, looking at relatively straight roads, and pretty scenery as we flew by. We didn’t take a lot of pictures. We enjoyed somewhat cooler than expected highs near 70 degrees. Little did we know this was about as warm as it’d get for the rest of our August trip.
While three quarters of the first day weren’t exciting, things did start to become much more interesting as we approached our stop for the night. We were staying at the Northgate Motel in Calumet. Calumet’s a small town on Hwy-26 about 30 minutes north from the Houghton-Hancock area and half-way up the Keweenaw Peninsula. Houghton-Hancock is a common reference for these two cities separated by a river. Houghton is on the south bank and Hancock on the north. The two are so intertwined as to be one. While I’m sure some locals might object, anyone I’ve heard reference the area talks about ‘Houghton-Hancock’.
H-H has a lot of the amenities you might expect for the biggest ‘city’ in a nearly 100 mile radius. One distinction, Houghton is home to the Michigan Institute of Technology. The area has always warmed the cockles of my heart. When I was very young, my father attended MIT and some of my very first memories are of living on a 45 deg. hill; a home with one bathroom at the top of a very long staircase; Dad falling off the roof while shoveling ‘a lot’ of snow off the roof; interminable snow; and, Christmas. Keeping in mind I was 4 at the time, I remember opening a pair of incredibly tall doors (2 full size pocket doors marked the living room entrance) Christmas morning to see the Christmas Tree, and big red’n’white plastic building blocks underneath.
Bringing myself back to the moment, we were passing through the cities as the sun was heading home. We had been in light rain for quite a while and, to our delight or dismay, they were actively paving Hwy-26, the only road through the area. We were tired, it was damp, the light was gray and getting dingier, and now we had orange stuff littered around. Fortunately traffic was light, delays modest, and in another 30 minutes we were pulling into the Northgate Motel in Calumet.
Now, let me tell you, as a global traveler, Northgate Motel ranked right up there in a number of waysJ. As you pull into the parking lot the first impression haunts you. It’s the sort of haunting you feel when you pull in somewhere and can’t put your finger on why it didn’t feel right. The motel structure looked worn though in a decent state of repair. The grass looked dried out, barren in a few spots, but not exactly bad. The asphalt was not broken up but worn such that the individual stones standing proud, the surrounding aggregate long since having worn away. Individually, no one detail turned you off but collectively you’d go across the street—if there had been an ‘across the street.’
But, the best was yet to comeJ. Paul and I found the lobby to basically be the attending manager’s living quarters with a check-in desk on one side. On one side was a worn sofa with a television squawking nearby. Between the entrance and the check-in desk was a large golden retriever that wasn’t the least bit interested in moving just because guests adorned the doorway.
After checking in and unloading we braced ourselves for a quick ride back into town for something to eat. I’m sorry to say the name escapes me… in downtown Calumet we found one restaurant open for business. Nearly a hundred years ago the Keweenaw Peninsula was a major source of copper and caused small towns to pop up akin to what you’d expect ‘out west.’ The restaurant was in what was once a hotel from that era. Having lost some of their original luster, the surroundings remained ornately decorated with perhaps 12’ ceilings and an active fireplace in the ‘lobby.’
The meal did wonders for us. The four of us had some pretty good food to eat. The fatigue we had all felt earlier seemed to just melt away. For at least a little while, time stood still as we just plain enjoyed our camaraderie. It didn’t hurt that, having recovered some, we were able to sit outside our motel rooms for a couple more hours and enjoy the beer we’d found along the way.
The next day of our journey would have us spending the night in Two Harbors, Minnesota. But first, we wanted to finish our trip up the Keweenaw Peninsula to Copper Harbor for breakfast. For those of you who haven’t been, the riding in the Keweenaw Peninsula and areas to the southwest are among the best Michigan has to offer. Heading toward the Peninsula’s end the key to the best road for me is to watch when Hwy-26 turns left toward Eagle River and Eagle Harbor. If you miss the turn, the road you ‘thought’ was ’26 continues on just fine, but as Hwy-41.
Staying on Hwy-26 will have you chasing along the shoreline. You catch frequent views of the water while riding a freshly paved asphalt snake that bobs and weaves over numerous undulating 6-7’ mounds and around tree stands. If you’re adventurous enough, you can have an absolute blast doing this for about 25 miles grinning from ear to ear. You see, a lot of these ‘mounds’ are more like ripples in God’s earth. Mixed in with the curves, you can sort of ride as though you’re the fulcrum of a pendulum made up of you and your bike. One moment you’re ready to turn left, and at the same time a 6’ hill pops up, and the effect is that your head never changes altitude but your lower body and machine swing toward the horizontal momentarily and then just as smoothly back down again—over, and over, and over again.
Of course, if that bores you (I’m still smiling from the memory), there are plenty of pavement undulations and elevation changes to keep you entertained. Paul found this out a bit to his surprise. The two of us had broken away from the others for a few minutes and were enjoying ourselves as we shot along the early morning path. At one point I noticed Paul’s V-strom change attitude. I don’t recall if he went airborne or just seriously lofted his front wheel, but he clearly had residual adrenaline was clearly present at our next stop.
The morning’s destination was Harbor House in Copper Harbor. You can’t miss it (well, we did) because it’s not far
from the dead end of Hwy-41.
The restaurant open’s early for breakfast and we were among the first few there. As you pull in to the lot, you get the classic seashore restaurant type impression. The parking lot is windswept and hasn’t seen fresh paint in a decade. There are no edges to the parking lot per se as they just seem to blend with the windswept sandy soil around its perimeter.
Harbor House itself has something of a ramshackle appearance as you walk up. Here’s this ‘fine’ restaurant we’ve heard the locals rave about yet as you near the rusty doors you wonder if, rather than the standard definition of ‘fine’, you’re about to see how the ‘locals’ define the wordJ. Much to our relief and satisfaction, we find Harbor House affords a beautiful view of the lake and shoreline and is five-star. Large clean windows, nice appointments, Bavarian orientation (including staff dress), and the best breakfast I can remember having. I can’t vouch for lunch or dinner, but if you’re on the Keweenaw Peninsula, you need to make the extra effort to stop by Harbor House.
After breakfast it’s back on the road and heading southwest on Hwy 26. Turning west on Hwy 45 we decide to have lunch in Ontonagon. Forgive the appearance of a ride-to-eat marathon; there just wasn’t much to chat up between eats. After a casual tour through town, we found the best place to stop was at the Harbor Towne Café. HTC is literally a little hole-in-the-wall. Along most of the street’s length, business fronts were separated from the street by no more than a curb and sidewalk. HTC was the exception, set back 20 feet with enough room to comfortably have outdoor seating. Deciding to eat outdoors, it was a motorcycling trip after all, we find our little pocket to be a tad windy. Service was good and the tables, stereotypical white plastic outdoor furniture, had red-checkered napkins giving just the right splash of color. It’s the sort of place you wouldn’t comment on save for a travelogue where there was everything else to not right about.
Continuing along Hwy 107, we headed off toward the Porcupine Mountains Wilderness State Park on a road nearly devoid of all traffic. For someone so used to the crush of metropolitan traffic, the experience was strangely tranquil as we rode along this quiet path brimming with lush green foliage on either side.
Expecting the park’s entrance to appear at any time, I was amazed at the incredibly life-like deer-style sign on one side of the road…it was a complete with an incredibly large rack. The buck was modeled, body perpendicular to the road with it’s head turned to face directly toward oncoming traffic. As I continued to hurdling forward I can’t quite make up my mind whether it’s one of those rare signs or the real thing. Only about 150’ away did my road sign disappear in the blink of an eye to the nearby foliage.
After poking into the Park briefly we reversed course at the ranger station, heading south on ’64. Supporting the northern entrance to the park, Hwy 64 had a slight increase in traffic. From there we ended up taking Hwy 2, the local approximation of super-slab, all the way west into Duluth, Minnesota.
Passing through Maple, Michigan, third or fourth bike from the front, I see buddy Dan light up his brake lights and the Goldwing decelerating at a rather impressive rate…followed quickly by buddy Paul's brake lights…somewhat taken off-guard…trying to miss hitting Dan…who it turns out…is in the process of having a black bear go running pell-mell across the road in front of him. Dan really had some good luck this trip, it seemed most of the time he led, we’d have bear, deer, or coyote attempt to commit suicide in front of him. We gave him plenty of ribbing for being so effective at flushing out the wildlife. Add a little wildlife and even your straightest road can become technically challengingJ.
Rounding the western end of Lake Superior, heading north and east from Duluth, you couldn’t help but draw a mental parallel to a New England port…cold blue water, a stiff breeze, and a bevy of very nice homes (appropriately styled) right on the water’s edge. What they gave up in the way of warm weather, was made up for with good taste, style, and beautiful scenery.
Our stop this evening would be at the Country Inn By Carlson (1204 7th Avenue, Two Harbors, MN 55616, 218.834.5557). Country Inn is a new two-story hotel on the south side of the road. Parking near the main entrance was readily available and the rooms comfortable. If you’re looking for a place to stay at, I would recommend them. Food was in walking distance.
This evening marked the end of the ‘good’ weather for the trip; cold, wet, and windy, was about to come.
The next morning we woke up to noticeably cooler temperatures, in the mid to low 40s. The skywas now very grey, and though we felt only a hint of a breeze, the clouds streaked by overhead.
After a continental breakfast (I’m tempted to say ‘quick’ but we never really were), we set out. After about 50 miles we came across the Bluefin Restaurant (7192 W Highway 61, Tofte, MN 55615-8615).
We were enjoying a pocket of dryness along with some brighter overcast ;) as we pulled into the parking lot. The last hour had been very grey, with a heavy drizzle that occasionally turned to rain, a lot of road spray, and growing winds. An hour into the day and we were already looking forward to someplace we could let things hang to dry and warm ourselves before heading out to continue doing battle again.
As we walk in, I can’t help but wonder: Is it possible? Twice in one trip we’ve found an outstanding 5-star restaurant? The Bluefin Restaurant is right on the water’s edge. Inside, you’re treated to mouth watering food, clothe napkins, and nice place settings atop white table cloths. The food was so good, the environment so comfortable (physically as well as aesthetically) with an interesting view, that we found ourselves spending almost two hours there. And, until we started to realize it’d been two hours I don’t think any of us minded a single bit.
Not only had we seen the weather change the night before, it would turn out that the Bluefin (highly recommended) would also be the last highpoint of our culinary experiences. But who’s to complain? It’s rare on a motorcycle trip that I find one really notable culinary experience (discounting a good bar & grille), let alone two, let alone with white linenJ. From a dining perspective, this trip had already had a lot going for it. I’m beginning to understand what they do with themselves when the weather hardens and its 7 months until green is seen again.
We had another 270 miles to go after our brunch. A few miles down the road we crossed into Canada and began chasing along Canada’s Transcontinental Highway 17. ‘17’, also co-marked as ‘11’ for about 60 miles, is a very wide two-lane highway. It made me think of US-12, heading through western Michigan. Much more lightly trafficked, seeing only a few vehicles an hour, 17 has long curves, long straights, and some notable elevation changes. As the miles piled on, we would find ourselves hovering around 90 mph (almost 50% over posted speed limits). Even though we saw the occasional law enforcement officer, some providing performance awards, they never so much as blinked a tail light in our direction.
It would turn out that this 3rd day would be, by far, the longest day of the trip. After nearly 320 miles, it was near dark by the time we put up for the night in Marathon, Ontario, Canada. While ‘only’ a ~320 mile day of ‘slab, we experienced temps that never got left the low 60s, driving rain, and crosswinds that averaged 35-45 mph almost all day. We were all well-worn, to a man. Of course, this meant life could only get better, right? J
Based on our reservations, we were looking forward to a hot tub, sauna, full bar, and an attached restaurant. The host would have needed a yard-stock to measure the drop in our jaws as he explained: the sauna was out of service; there was no bar; the attached restaurant was long closed for the day; and, the only place selling beer was 10 miles back up the road. Nothing like a long day, being completely worn out, and your dreams for a nice evening of recovery…smashed, beat to a pulp.
After sorting the rooms out, we spent 30 minutes debating what to do before a plan was hatched. Buddy Dan volunteered to suit back up and go out for beer (bless his heart). In the interim we ordered pizza. And, bless the host’s soul he opened up the restaurant for us. An otherwise drab evening quickly changed into a good memory. We found ourselves all on our own in the restaurant, eating pizza, drinking beer, and watching TV. Its always amazing how, given the right circumstances, something so ho-hum can be priceless.
The Loop: Day 4Our final riding day. We leave Marathon, continuing east on TC 17. Within an hour we come across a very large Winnie the Pooh off to the right, in White River, Ontario. It turns out that the world-famous children’s character Winnie the Pooh was inspired by an orphaned bear cub, which was purchased from a trapper at White River by Captain Harry Colebourn, during WW I. He was a veterinarian and his troop train had stopped at this Northern Ontario town en route from Winnipeg. Colebourn named Winnie for his home city (Winnipeg) and took her on to England as his troop's mascot. Before shipping on to France he left Winnie at the London Zoo where she was discovered by author A.A. Milne’s delighted son Christopher. Winnie inspired Milne to write the children’s stories for his child.
Of course, I bought a couple WtP t-shirts and other nick-nacksJ.
This last day, the wind, while still evident, is largely at our backs and hardly the burden it represented the day prior. The temperature was hard pressed to reach 60 though, making it a bright sunny, crisp day for riding. All would be forgiven but for another 10 degreesJ.
As we started our turn to the south, we came across scores of motorcyclists heading in the opposite direction. Most were on cruisers of one type or another with a few Goldwings thrown in. What we quickly noticed was that very few of our fellow riders were the least bit prepared for cold weather. We passed countless cruisers sans windscreens wearing the likes of varsity letter jackets, or mesh riding gear, with sweatshirts. What made the sights so noticeable was just how many had (probably very recently acquired) hooded sweatshirts with the hood strings pulled so tight you could barely see their faces: a sweatshirt sphincter comes to mind.
As we round Pukaskwa National Park, we are literally on the only road in the region. Traffic’s the heaviest we’ve seen, perhaps a vehicle every couple minutes. The road is now perhaps the most ‘adventurous’ (and I use the term very loosely) of the entire Canadian portion of the trip. Elevation changes will have you diving 150’ up and down inside a minute or two, with a few more curves than we’d seen in a while. Even so, I’d need to do 120 mph on the ST before I’d be seriously pushing it around any of the turns. This is a trip for the scenery, for the experience, not for the roads.
As the day starts to wind down we find ourselves at the Canada/U.S. border. This is the first time we’ve had congestion the entire trip. It turns out, as we creep over a large trellis bridge overlooking the Sault Ste. Marie lochs that the U.S. Customs facility is under heavy construction. Signs suggest completion the following season and, as we meander toward the inspection booths, it appears it will be quite nice once done.
Of course, there’s been a small amount of trepidation for this phase of the trip. You see, Buddy Paul is Australian, residing in the U.S. as a permanent green card holder. Further, his business has had him regularly traveling the world. Though there shouldn’t be any issues he’s concerned about the border crossing. Going first, Paul gets to spend what seems like forever at the check point. The rest of us breeze through.
With 60 miles to the Mackinac Bridge, we find ourselves fighting the urge to roll on the speed for the final leg back to Cheboygan. Traffic really moves on this northernmost segment of I-75 with 90 mph apparently the norm. After about 40 minutes we start over the bridge and 15 minutes later we’re back at the point it all started from. 4 days of long hard riding, yet in an instant it almost seems as though it never was.
2036 miles. 6 days. 4 men. 4 motorcycles. 3 deer. 1 bear. 1 coyote. Uncounted beer, steak, gas, picturesque views, and speed. Camaraderie. In a very tight nutshell, that about sums up the annual week-long motorcycle trip for 2004. Riders (left to right): JT, Paul, Dave, & Dan)
